Majoring on the Minor
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: The minor characters of The Wild Wild West, that is. This is a series of stand-alone one-shot stories exploring such things as various characters' backstories, their motivations, what happened to them after the end credits rolled - and I plan also to fill in some plot holes along the way. Our latest story: Aaron Buckley from TNOT Simian Terror. Updating at whim.
1. Josephine

**Josephine**

It was fun at first, leaving the farm to live in a big city, getting myself a job. My boss, General Titus Trask, seemed so nice in the beginning. And when the work days were over, I could take my pay as his secretary and go out in the city to shop. I particularly loved the candy store!

But then things started to change. Gen Trask introduced me to the creepy doctor and his assistant he'd hired, and also to Sergeant Stryker with that blasted dog whistle.

And then my boss packed us all up and moved us out into the middle of nowhere! No more city, no more shopping, no more candy store. I wrote letter after letter to my mother complaining about how things had changed, but she never wrote me back.

Well, then one day as I was cleaning the ashes out of my boss' fireplace, I spotted a corner of a sheet of paper and recognized my own handwriting on it. That's when I knew that my mother wasn't answering me because none of my letters were even leaving this blasted place!

About that time is when the other fellows started to show up, out here in the middle of the desert of all things. New recruits for the cadre, my boss called them. Tin soldiers, I called them. Every single one of them would somehow wind up with a head wound for a while, and after that, well, they just didn't act like people anymore. Tin soldiers.

As for me, I started listening at doors, hoping to learn when someone would be riding out from here, preferably in a wagon so I could hide myself in the back and get out of this place. There was no point, after all, in me just helping myself to one of the horses and heading out on my own. It had taken days to get here in the first place and, well, at the time we moved here, I hadn't thought to memorize the way we came. I had believed we were moving to another city, or at least to a town! Not to this… this hole in the ground in the middle of the desert!

I was a prisoner here. Not in name - I was still the secretary - but for all practical purposes, I was a prisoner. So I knew I had to watch out, find myself a chance, and take it.

And then came Green Eyes. Oh, but he was pretty! Well, there had been a time when I'd thought my boss was pretty too, so I knew not to let his looks sway me. I'd have to sneak around more, listen in more, see if there was some way I could turn something to my advantage - especially before Green Eyes wound up with that head wound as well and turned into just another tin soldier.

But then something weird happened. I walked out of my room upstairs and looked down into the main room and saw a stranger down there! A very strange stranger too, with an odd way of talking, and all sorts of stuff he was trying to sell to me. It reminded me of shopping and the city, and all I had lost when we came here, and well - I got mad. I was just determined that there wasn't a thing that man could show me that would make me happy. So he'd talk up an item real big, and I'd tear it down again - and wouldn't you know it? He'd agree with me and toss it aside!

And then he showed me the mirror - the flatterer! - and on the back of it the picture of Green Eyes. That's when I got scared. What would my boss do if he caught me talking about Green Eyes with this fellow?

But then… Oh, then he brought out the last item. He showed me the box of candy…

…

But you know, just because a man gives (or sells) you candy, doesn't mean you ought to trust him. I figured I'd better keep on listening around, find out what was what. That's what I was doing just outside the doctor's lab when the door sprang open and Mr Funny Accent grabbed me and dragged me inside. Scared me half to death, and even more so when I saw that Green Eyes had that bandage wrapped around his head. That dang head wound again!

But Green Eyes wasn't acting like a tin soldier. He asked me a lot of questions and I answered them, proud to show him and his buddy - who had lost both his accent and his whiskers - how much I knew about what was really going on around here. And to my surprise, they kissed me, one on this cheek, one on that, before they rushed off to do whatever it was they had in mind to do.

I was left alone. My boss the general, Sergeant Dog Whistle, and the tin soldiers were all gone, and so were Green Eyes and his friend Mr Funny Accent. They'd all gone off and left me.

Well, not all. For then I noticed the creepy doctor was laid out on the floor of his lab unconscious. And as I was hunting up something to use to tie him up, I spotted his assistant as well, out cold in the storage room. That made me happy! I'd never liked either of them anyway, and seeing them knocked out, I knew there wasn't anyone who would or could have done such a thing to them except Green Eyes and his buddy! So I could trust them. Grinning, I tied up the pair of creeps, packed up all my things, and waited for my new friends to come back for me.

It was a long wait.

In fact, the longer I waited, the more afraid I became that my new friends weren't coming back after all - or worse, that my boss and his tin soldiers would get back here first. I was beginning to think maybe I ought to go untie my two prisoners and pretend like nothing had happened. But then I heard a tremendous noise coming into the yard, all thundering hooves and jingling, creaking harness! I peeked out the window and was astounded to see scores of horsemen and a dozen wagons arriving outside the house, and leading the way was a wagon marked Kelton's Travelling Emporium.

Then Green Eyes and Mr Funny Accent hopped down from the seat of that wagon and headed for the door. You better believe I ran to throw it open for them and welcome them back!

They met me with somber news though. The tin soldiers had all been captured along with Sergeant Dog Whistle, but my boss was dead. That hit me hard at first since there had been a time when he'd been good to me and I'd liked him. It took me a bit to recover from the shock.

But when I did, I told them what I'd done to the creepy doctor and his crony. And then they let me know there was someone who wanted to meet me.

Meet _me? _Who in all that wagon train could possibly want to meet me?

Green Eyes offered me his arm, so I took it. The men led me up to one of the wagons, took me around back, nodded at a pair of uniformed soldiers - real soldiers, in proper cavalry uniforms. And then they threw open the flap and said, "Here she is, sir, the young woman who was so helpful to us."

And that's how I wound up face to face with President Ulysses S Grant!

He was very kind. Treated me like a daughter, or maybe a granddaughter. He invited me in to sit in the shade with him while he sent someone to fetch the things I'd packed. He told me marvelous tales about his life and asked me questions about mine - all, I think, to set me at my ease. He offered to drop me off anywhere I wanted to go in this great nation of ours, but apologized that he had to keep an appointment to visit the territorial governor first.

So that's how I wound up living in California. I wrote Ma and told her about my adventures so she'd know why she hadn't received any letters from me for so long. And she wrote back to fret at me and ask when I'd be coming back home to the farm.

But I like it here! I got a new job, still as a secretary, but this new boss seems a lot more sensible than my old one. Well, not that I've written Ma too much about my new job. I'm not sure how she'd react to learning that my new boss is a woman, but I'm pretty sure I know how she'd react to learning the place where I'm the new secretary is called the Bucket of Blood! And I'd just rather not send poor Ma off into a conniption fit.

Anyway, I've discovered since I got here that I like Chinese food, and the fog, and the view of the ocean, and the way the houses look kind of sideways as they poke up out of the tall hillsides. The only drawback so far is that the ground shakes now and again. But no place is perfect; some places are just less perfect than others, and after living in a hole in the desert, I am _more _than content getting to live where I do now.

There's just one thing. What with all my astonishment that day at getting to meet the president, I lost track of Green Eyes and his friend, and so I never thanked them properly for getting me out of that place. By the time I thought to look for them again, their wagon was gone and them with it.

I hope they know how grateful I am to them for rescuing me and giving me this chance to live again. I've thought about writing to them, pouring it all out on paper to let them know.

But then what? Even if I wrote a letter, where would I send it? What would I do, address it to:

_Green Eyes and Mr Funny Accent  
c/o The President  
Washington D C?_

**FIN**

* * *

_(Yes, I know at one point Josephine listens at a door and hears the name Mr West - but it's funnier this way.)_


	2. Madame Moustache

**Mme Moustache**

Connections. That's what it's all about, connections. Connecting up the one who wants to sell a thing with the one who wants to buy it. That's why I have ears out there on the streets, and eyes as well. That's why, when that fancy Japanese sword got heisted, I knew about it within minutes, and minutes after that, I knew about a customer looking to get his hands on it.

Connections. If I could put together that customer with whoever had the sword to sell, I stood to make a pretty penny as the middleman. Or middlewoman - put it that way.

So I was pleased when Soapy came over and whispered in my ear, pointing out the stranger bellying up to the bar. He was a disreputable-looking character, meaning of course that he fit right in at the Bucket of Blood. His clothes proclaimed him to be a captain of some type or another, and he was all grins and winks and glittering eyes, full of compliments and flattery, calling me Nina Candida - whoever she was - and lauding my beauty!

A liar then. Well, he fit right in on that count too.

Oh, and one more way he fit right in: he was drunk. Stinking drunk. Soused to the gills, and yet the shrewdest drunk I'd ever come across, and I've met far more than my fair share of drunks while presiding over the bar here in my saloon.

But there was one thing that recommended him to me, and that was the long cylindrical package he'd laid on the bar by his side. If he had the missing sword in there - and he certainly made it sound like he did - it would simply be a matter of separating the sot from his package and thus eliminating the middlewoman of the transaction by replacing the pickled seller with myself.

It was not to be.

The package, as it turned out, contained not the elusive sword but an impressive set of Roman candles! And after the light and sound had died away enough for me to venture a glance over the top of the bar again to take in the sight of my now-empty saloon - there he was still, the drunken captain, still full of grins and flattery, still lauding me as Nina Candida.

Well, what could I do then? He'd spoiled my plan of eliminating him from the chain of commerce, so the only position I had left to fall back on was that of middlewoman once more. We sealed the deal; I held out my hand to shake his, only to be shocked when he kissed me, right on the forearm, right on the tattoo!

I sent Soapy along with him to lead him to the customer, as well as to bring me back my cut of the deal. And then that smiling fellow surprised me once more. He turned back at the doorway, put his hand up to the cigar on his lips, and shot me one last grinning flirtatious wink.

Then he was gone. And there I stood in my empty saloon, stunned.

I had a hand mirror there at the bar. I took it up and looked in it, wondering what he had seen. And as I studied the reflection of my face - so plain, so unbeautiful - I found myself wondering also if perhaps the fellow might come back again, and wondering as well if it would be so bad of me should I decide to answer to the name of Nina Candida. If he came back. If he called me that again.

But now, an hour later with business bustling along once more, I watch the door waiting not for the flirty captain to return, but to find out what has become of Soapy, and whether that little rat has decided to skip out with my cut!

**FIN**


	3. Madame Lafarge

_Thanks to Cal Gal for betaing these stories._

* * *

**Mme Lafarge**

Sometimes in my dreams, I see them. Just flashes. A farm. A river bank. A book. And children.

The children. A young boy, and a younger girl, both with big dark eyes and black curly hair. The boy's voice saying, "Read to me, Grandma?"

The book in my lap by the riverside, the little boy snuggled at my side, his eyes wide as I read to him. "Heads will roll, heads will roll on the guillotine!" How he shivers with glee as I do the voice, that cackling voice!

The wind picking up, and the color of the sky turning green. No longer cackling, I say, "Hurry. Help Grandma up. We have to get home."

Running. The boy, with his fast legs and strong heart, racing ahead of me as I hobble along after him, clutching the book close as the wind grows stiffer.

"Mother!" Here comes a young man running across the field toward me, coming to help. Beyond him is the boy, and with the boy, a young woman bearing the little girl in her arms. Such a sweet little family, calling to me, waving to me, urging me to hurry, hurry!

The wind. The black wind, swirling and tugging, screaming in our ears. Ripping and tossing and tearing, that wind. The screaming, the screaming!

The silence.

And this is the point when I always wake up sitting bolt upright in my bed in my little room in the hospital, the little room cluttered full with my things. My _things_. Things I still have, for the house was untouched. But the people… No, not the people. Of the five people in that field struggling against the swirling wind, there is only one left now: I alone, and with no longer the use of my legs.

I live here in the hospital, here in this cluttered little room full of things that should jog memories in my head but don't. The lamp over the table, the china figurines, the dolls, oh so many dolls!

All that captivates me are the books. My books, my diary - and my guillotine. When it's quiet and no one is stirring outside my room, no one for me to watch and wonder about, then I lose myself in the books. And why not? Whatever self I had before is lost to me. I might as well become someone else! They called me by that other name at first, that empty name, but I would not answer them, no, not I. Not till they got it right. Not till they called me Madame Lafarge.

Here I live in my little prison, my room in the Bastille, prisoner of my body, prisoner of the endless now with no past, no past. And yet…

"The boy will come," I tell the nurses confidently. "He will come and want me to read to him. And the girl. She will come and play with the dolls."

But when my back is turned, when they think I will not hear them, I hear the nurses whispering among themselves. No one is coming for me. No one will come and take me out of here. There is no escape for me.

…

It is silent, for it is night. That is how it should be. But then it is not silent. Voices coming down the stairs. A man's voice first, worried, terribly worried, craving more information. And then a woman. From her words, I think she must be a nurse, and yet I don't know her voice and I know all the voices here. She tells him a Mr Gordon has been seriously injured, that they tried to reach him earlier but could not.

Oh, but how officious the nurse sounds, how cold, practically blaming the man for not being available when they tried to contact him earlier! He presses to know where his friend is.

"Here," she tells him as she leads him to the emergency operating room.

They go in and close the door. I cannot watch, but I listen. I hear a new voice, a man's voice. "Mr West?" But who is this man? Again this is a voice I do not know!

There is a long pause before the worried young man speaks again. He addresses the strange man as a doctor, asking after his friend, a man named Artemus Gordon.

The doctor. I do not know whose voice is colder, the doctor's or the nurse's. He tells the worried Mr West he's too late. And then asks him to identify a body! Cold, cold, cold!

Another long pause. Now Mr West speaks again, but excited! The dead man is not his friend! And yet the doctor wishes to argue with him, asking is he sure. He is sure this is not his friend lying before him dead; _I _am sure of it. I can hear the joy and relief in his words.

Then I hear sounds that make no sense to me. There is a puff of air? Then a clatter that is nearly a crash! Then a… click?

The doctor speaks again, expressing cool amazement that Mr West is trying to fire a gun, much less that he is able to hold on to it. Next come twin crashes. The first, metallic, I think must be the gun hitting the floor, and the second, also hitting the floor, is a dull thud. A body. A body, but whose?

"Gentlemen!" the doctor calls. Footsteps answer him. I hear squeaking, a familiar sound, but what is it?

Something large is set on the floor. More squeaking - the sound, I think, of something rubbing together. Ah, I _know _that sound! It is… it is…

The large something is taken up again and the door opens. I crack open my door and peer through as two men come out into the hall, bearing between them… Ah! _Wicker! _That is what I have been hearing. A wicker basket. Oh, but the biggest wicker basket I have ever seen. Big enough to be a casket!

The men head for the stairs with their burden, the nurse with them. How silent the three are, speaking not a single word as they pass through the building and out the doors.

Now the strange doctor leaves the hospital as well. _His _voice I hear at least. He calls out, "Sikes! There you are. You're late!"

Someone mumbles apologies but the doctor does not care. "Quickly now! Load him in the wagon. I hope you have the boat ready, Sikes. I want to have Mr James West here well settled in at the…" A thump as the wicker basket lands in the wagon bed. I lose a word or two. "…before the drug I gave him wears off."

The sound of someone slapping the reins, then hoofbeats and wheels running over cobblestones as the wagon moves off carrying Mr West away from here.

But what a curious thing to have happen in the night! I write it all down in my diary.

…

The day comes with its dull routine. I ask to go out, for the boy to come or the girl, but who hears me? No one. They never hear me. They never care.

Ah, but here is someone who cares. Not for me, granted, but he cares for someone! He asks for his friend, saying there was a message. He gives his friend's name and his own name, but the doctor dismisses him. No one was here by that name, says the doctor. No one was ever here by that name.

Ah, but he is _lying!_ There _was _someone here by that name. I know, for I heard!

But how exciting and how curious! It is so much like what happened in the night, but the names are reversed.

Today's worried young man is nearly ready to fight Alex the orderly over this, but decides not to. He starts to leave. The doctor, satisfied that the man is leaving, goes away himself and Alex with him.

But I have something to say about this. Yes, and something to do. I pull a blank page from my diary…

The young man whirls when the wad of paper hits his back and he glares all around. Ah! What dark hair he has, and what dark eyes! My boy? The boy from my dreams?

He sees my hand poking out where my door is barely open, my finger beckoning to him. Closer he comes and closer still. I scurry back and hide.

In he walks, slowly, looking all around. I wait till he is fully in the room, then slap the door closed. Haha!

"Lafarge!" I tell him, introducing myself. "Madame Lafarge!" And as he gapes at me, I roll my chair to the table where my prized possession stands. Ah, my little guillotine! Heads will roll. Heads will roll!

He tosses down the wad of paper I used to lure him in here and starts to leave, thanking me sarcastically for my help. He does not understand. I must make him understand. He is worried, just as his friend was. Worried when he came in, worried now.

He draws close again, surprised that I saw him come in. But I see everything! I watch everything. That is why I know what happened. And all that I see, I write in my book.

He asks about his friend, calling me Grandma. Grandma, Grandma! Yes, my boy, my boy has come! Dark eyes, dark curls, but a boy no longer, and where is the girl?

No, no, not a girl - his friend. He has a friend and cannot find him. His friend was looking for him and could not find him either. His worried friend. West. James West. That is what the doctor who was the wrong doctor called him when they took him away.

I show my boy, my worried young man, my book and he reaches for it. Ah, but not so fast! He wants the book, but I want something too, something rare and precious to me. The book, I know, is precious to him now. I name my price.

"Take you out!" he exclaims.

Oh but I beg! Out of this room, this pretty prison! Out into the sunshine away from the Bastille, perhaps to find a river bank by a farm to read my book to my boy, my boy, this worried young man who calls me Grandma.

He stares at me for a long moment, long enough for me to wonder what I will do if he simply decides to take my book from me. And then he glances at the door and I know what decision he has made. A moment's scowl, then he steps around me, drawing my chair back to line it up with the doorway. He goes to the door, peeks out, looking this way and that. Then he leaves the door standing wide open and comes around behind me. Ah, he is pushing my chair, shushing me conspiratorially as - bless him! - he takes me out!

Then we stop as he turns to shut the door. And I take my chance, shoving the wheels hard, hurrying for the open doorway marked Surgery Ward, hurrying for freedom from the Bastille!

"Hey!" Oh, he is upon me in a heartbeat, catching the chair, whirling me back, pulling me close as he drops into a regular chair nearby. "Grandma!" he says softly in a tsking scolding voice, reminding me of my promise to tell him of James West.

James West! Why, I never heard of him!

He clicks his tongue at me again, giving me a sidelong look. And then a gleam comes into his eye as he leans still closer and makes me an offer. Oh, such an offer! Bonbons he promises me, a big box of them, as many as I can eat in a month, and with such centers! Thick and gooey, full of nuts and marshmallows and caramels. Oh, but I lick my lips just thinking of them! Eagerly I nod and reach under my shawl to give him the book…

A shadow appears. A voice, scolding but not lightheartedly as my boy's voice had been. "Madame de Lafarge!" says the doctor's voice, getting my name slightly wrong as usual as he talks to me as if to a baby, telling me I've been naughty. Naughty! As if I weren't old enough to be his mother! He sends Alex to take me back to my room, back to the Bastille, then turns to my boy and all but orders him to leave.

I hear the doctor's footsteps echo away, then the voice of the dark-haired young man calls to me again. "Grandma, bonbons!"

Gleefully I cackle out the words the little boy loved so to hear - Heads will roll, heads will roll! - as I bring out my diary and heave it right over Alex' head just before he rolls me into the Bastille once more and closes the door behind me.

…

The days pass. I can no longer tell how many, for my diary is gone and I haven't another. I could, I know, write down everything into one of my reading books, but I can't. Those are for reading. What if the boy comes and I've written in his books? He would be so disappointed!

Then a nurse comes into my room, all atwitter. I have visitors, she says, and begins to tidy me up.

Visitors for me? Are they… could they be…? I picture them again, the boy and girl from my dream.

"No, no, Madame Lafarge!" the nurse scolds. "Not them. _Real _visitors. A pair of gentlemen." She finishes making me presentable, then rolls me out the door.

Two gentlemen indeed, and I recognize them both. The worried young men! The dark-haired one, smiling, greets me with "Good day, Grandma! I trust you didn't think I'd forgotten about you." He steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek, then gently lays a large box on my lap. "Bonbons, as promised, in gratitude for helping me find my friend." And he nods at the other.

Oh, bonbons! My hands are shaking as I scrabble the lid open. Yes, yes! Huge, just as he promised. I pick up one and bite into it. Bliss, shear bliss!

But then I look into the box again. Oh, I could eat all these in just one day!

He grins. "That's why I've made arrangements with the shop where I bought those for them to deliver a new box just like this one every day for a solid month."

"Oh!" squeaks the nurse at my side.

"And while I don't mind if you should choose to share your bounty with the lovely ladies here who take care of you, Grandma," he adds, giving the nurse a sidelong look, "it is worth mentioning that if I should find out your gifts are not reaching you, I will _not _be happy."

I smile up at him. Heads will roll?

"I could see to that, yes," he says and lifts an eyebrow at the nurse.

"Yes, Mr Gordon," she says, properly cowed.

"And," says the other. Mr James West now steps forward. He too kisses my cheek; he too has a package for me. "I also wanted to give you a little something," he says.

But what can the package he lays in my lap be? Surely not more candy. The package is thick, about the size of…

Oh! The size of a book! I pull at the string, then cast aside the brown wrapping paper.

Not a book, but two books! And one of them very familiar. My diary! They have returned my diary.

"And the other is a new diary, for when you finish filling up the old one."

Oh, bless them! Bless them both! I turn to the nurse and hand her my treasures, new and old, to put them away in my room. And as soon as her back is turned I lean forward to my two benefactors and make of them a request, a deeply desired, earnest request.

There is silence as they turn and glance at each other. Then my dark-haired boy nudges his friend with an elbow and says, "Told you!"

"Yes, Madame Lafarge," says Mr James West, "we did come to take you out. There's a little French restaurant nearby and…"

French! I lick my lips in delight. And as they escort me out for a lovely afternoon, with the meal at the restaurant followed by a pleasant carriage ride out into the country, I eavesdrop on their conversation shamelessly.

"You realize, James, not only did we prove that firm will-power - wanting something badly enough - could break one free from Dr Arcularis' spell, but so could a good old-fashioned knock-out punch!"

The other chuckles. "I just hope…"

"Hope what?"

"I hope that the doctor has learned his lesson."

"Hmm. Well, if he hasn't yet, he's got plenty of time behind bars to contemplate it."

"True. It just that, behind prison bars and with all the time in the world on his hands, who knows if he won't try to refine his technique?"

Mr Gordon turns to stare at him. "And with all sorts of fellow prisoners to use for guinea pigs?"

Mr West nods.

Silence. Then, in the same breath together, "We need to warn the warden!"

And just like that, my pleasant day is over. They instantly command the carriage driver to take us back to the Bastille where they turn me over to the care of Alex. The dark-haired boy kisses my cheek again as they take their leave, promising to come visit me whenever they are in town. "I'm afraid that's not very often," he adds, "but we'll come when we can."

And then off they go in search of a telegraph office.

And I, I'm rolled back into my pretty prison. I look around, taking in the trappings of my forgotten life, the books, the dolls, the lamp and the bric-a-brac. And then my eyes fall again on my special treasure. I roll over to the table, take from the box another luscious bonbon and bite into it, and through gooey chocolate-coated caramel I cackle out the words the boy so loved as I draw the blade of the guillotine all the way up to the very tiptop.

Heads will roll!

**FIN**


	4. Miss Piecemeal

_Thanks to Cal Gal for graciously betaing._

* * *

**Miss Piecemeal**

I should feel privileged, I suppose. I betrayed the governor twice, but got caught at it only once. But then for my first employer, I needed only to send a signal to indicate that Mr West, rather than simply carrying Dr Loveless' message to the governor, had also asked the governor for troops to use against the doctor. That plot of course failed thanks to Mr West's Herculean efforts, but my part in the scheme went undetected.

This was not the case, however, the second time around. In serving my new employer, Professor Bolt, I took a far more active role, being the chief liaison between the professor and our spurious Governor Bradford. Indeed, it was I who found and hired Sam Jamison, and also I who had to stand by him every step of the way, endeavoring to keep the man from panicking every two minutes. How he ever imagined himself to be an actor is quite beyond me, considering his complete lack of self-assurance!

Professor Bolt, on the other hand - now there was a man with nerves of steel. A thoroughly admirable man: brilliant, discriminating, bold. I would have followed him forever - yes, and even died for him. Until I made an astonishing discovery. And that was the fact that, much as I was devoted to Professor Bolt, I was still more profoundly devoted to the prospect of continuing to breathe, and all the more so after the professor had me tossed into the wine press to die along with the two federal agents I'd been doing my best to kill for him.

The professor discarded me to die along with the agents. The agents, by contrast, in escaping from that certain death took me along with them, restoring me to life.

I lost my position, my reputation, and my freedom, all because of my own decision to betray the governor who trusted me. I retained my life through sheer chivalry, because a pair of decent gentlemen - unlike my employer - weren't about to leave a woman behind to die.

And so, Your Honor, I have no illusions. I know what I deserve. Not liberty of course, and while I would prefer not death either, I realize it is in your hands to adjudge whether my actions rise to the level of actual treason. And if so, I tell you this, Your Honor: I know that if you should deem it appropriate for the State of California to require of me the ultimate penalty, the state at least will not seek to carry out that sentence by crushing me to death in a wine press.

Thank you for your kind attention. I will await your ruling.

**FIN**


	5. Aimee Baldwin

**Aimee Baldwin**

_It wasn't supposed to be this way!_

By this time, I was supposed to be on my way back to Washington City on my Daddy the General's arm, where we would become the toast of the town. Reporters would hang on Daddy's every little word, clamoring for him to run for president, while I myself would be the belle of every ball with fine young men from distinguished old families vying for my hand, perhaps even fighting duels over me! And naturally after the election, what with my dear sainted Mama having passed on to her reward all these many years ago, I would serve as Daddy the President's First Lady, perhaps even to have a White House wedding!

That's how things were supposed to be. We should be on our way back East, back to civilization, instead of still living out here in the West among all these savages. Oh, and after all these years of living in one fort after another, I well knew that savages in the wild West come in every hue of skin color, and all too many of them dress in Army blue. Hmph! I've seen them. Casting their piggish eyes upon me, the General's daughter. Why, those vulgar men wouldn't know a lady from a bar maid!

Well, they were useful, some of them, Colonel Rath most of all. He found men who were happy enough to aid me in stirring things up by dressing themselves up as redskins to make it look as if the fort were in danger, as if the tribes round about us were going on the warpath. And so many men were willing to cooperate! So why didn't Mr West?

Hmph, that dreadful man! And I'd had such hopes for him! I thought surely Mr West would confirm to the president what terrible danger we were facing from the Indians out here. That's why I took him outside away from his silly ol' boxing match, so he could see for himself.

But then it turned out the man wasn't a proper government agent after all; of all things, he was an _Indian lover! _But then I should have realized what sort of man that old fool in the White House would send to us in our hour of need.

But that was all right. If Mr West wouldn't help us out in one way, we'd just see to it that he'd help us another. Just like Oconee.

Oh my lands, that Oconee! It never ceased to amaze me how very much that silly Indian liaison fellow helped us! Of course, I knew what _he_ wanted. Just the same as I wanted my Daddy the General to become the leader he was destined to be - the President of these United States - in a similar way Oconee was aiming for the heights. He wanted to be the chief of all the Indians hereabouts, wanting to prove himself to his kinsmen that he was more of an Indian than any of his full-blooded cousins. But for Oconee to become chief, something would have to happen to the old chief, Strong Bear.

The plan was brilliant - at least, until it wasn't. Oconee would arrange a meeting between Mr West and Strong Bear where it would develop that the old man was dead, murdered, and Mr West would of course be blamed for it. Oconee's braves would then mete out their heathen justice on Mr West, and with the death of a prominent man on either side, why, war would just naturally break out.

And it was working! It was going to work! The old chief was dead, and Mr West was about to be dead, and after that the tribes would take to the warpath, thirsting for revenge, massacring left and right - and then my Daddy the General, the old Indian fighter himself, would step in and put down the rebellion, kill all the Indians, save the day, and be lauded as the greatest American general living, bar none - just as he ought to be.

And after that, the White House!

But I really don't understand Oconee and why he was so willing to go along with this plan. Surely he realized that my agency for Daddy the General to sail into the presidency would be on the floodtide of an ocean of red man's blood. Or maybe Oconee thought he and his braves would be strong enough to best the whole United States Army and that the ocean of blood that would be spilled would be white man's?

Not that either came about. And it was all because of that man James West, and him dead, or as good as it! Oconee's braves knocked him down into that pit; I saw them do it. And when he tried to climb back out again, I just casually stepped over there myself and trod on his fingers to make him fall back down in again.

So he was dead. Why couldn't he have just stayed that way?

And he wasn't the only one who just couldn't stay dead! That partner of his, Mr Gordon, had to go and dress himself up as Strong Bear and play like he was rising up from the dead to warn the other Indians not to trust Oconee. Oh, but I wish I'd shot that man when I'd had the chance!

Well - _I _got away, at least. Some of Oconee's own people helped me, giving me food and taking me on to a town where I could send Daddy the General a telegram saying I was safe, that I'd escaped from Oconee's tribe after they'd kidnapped me. I added a few more details guaranteed to put Daddy the General on the warpath himself against Oconee's people. And then I waited.

But I never expected _this_. This very morning as I was eating my breakfast in the hotel dining hall, somebody came in carrying the news that my Daddy the General had resigned his commission! And that, that _upstart_, that common, vulgar, whiskey-swilling, cigar-chomping buffoon in the White House who could never hold a candle to my Daddy - that horrible man had accepted my Daddy's resignation. Nothing could be more humiliating, nothing whatsoever! And one of the reasons they said my Daddy resigned was so he could devote himself to his family as a private citizen. Devote himself to his family! _I'm _all the family my Daddy's got left!

Well, I marched right back up to my hotel room and now I'm packing. Not that I have much to pack, only the few clothes I've had made for myself since arriving here. I've got a little money still, so I figure I'll just take the next coach out of this town and head on West to San Francisco. It's a good sized city; once I change my name, I doubt if even Saint Peter could find me there. It's not Washington City, of course, but it'll just have to do.

There's a knock on my door. Must be a maid come to tidy up. I answer it.

I stare. "D-daddy?"

He's right there in the doorway, that giant of a man, my Daddy the General. "Aimee," he says in that voice I've missed, "you come on now. It's time to go."

Go? What does he mean? Go where?

He crooks his elbow to me. "Come along now, Aimee. We'll send for your things later."

Automatically I slip my hand through his elbow and let him lead me downstairs. We pass through the lobby and out onto the porch. And that's where they're waiting for me, a colonel and three soldiers, men I don't recognize.

"Aimee Baldwin," says the officer, "you are under arrest for conspiracy to instigate…"

_What? _I don't even hear the rest of his words; they're meaningless to me. I can only stand there and stare at him, leaning on my Daddy the General's arm.

But then Daddy takes his arm away. "Do your duty, men," he says to the soldiers. They step forward and one of them clamps manacles around my wrists. Then they start to lead me away to a wagon that's standing nearby.

"No! No, Daddy, you can't let them!"

"Your father," says the officer coldly, "has resigned his commission, Miss Baldwin, and no longer has any authority in this matter."

"That is true, Colonel," my Daddy answers, "but… if I may?"

The colonel regards Daddy for a long moment, then nods. And here comes my Daddy and takes my hands.

"Aimee my darling, you need to understand something."

"Did you really?" I ask, daring for once to actually interrupt my Daddy the General.

"Did I really what?"

"Did you really resign your commission?"

"Yes, I did, Aimee, and it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do." He pauses to consider, then says, "The third hardest. The first hardest, of course, was when I had to bury your dear mother. And the second hardest, that was my final official action before resigning," and now he tips my chin up to be able to look me in the eye, "when I issued the warrant for the arrest of my only daughter."

My… my arrest… But… but it was all for _him! _Doesn't he understand that? Daddy…!

The world crashes down around me. I don't even feel the soldiers' hands as they lead me away and put me into that wagon. All I can see - all I'll ever see for the rest of my days - is my Daddy the General, stern as ever, handsome as ever, as he looks down at me.

And turns his face away.

**FIN**


	6. Priscilla Ames

_Thanks to Cal Gal for betaing._

* * *

**Priscilla Ames**

Long long ago when I was a little girl - or at least, so I've been told - my grandfather one day called me "Silly." And my mother got very upset and told him he was never ever to call me that again. And he said, "Well, you're the one who had to give her that name! Which would you rather I call her: Silly, or Prissy?"

But he never called me any nicknames after that, just Priscilla, my own right name. Only now… now I do feel awfully silly, that way I believed everything Dr Loveless told me, especially about James West!

Everyone was so nice about it afterwards though, after Dr Loveless and Voltaire drove away in that carriage with all the smoke pouring out of it. Well, almost everyone. Mr West was nicest of all. And even the governor was nice! So was that lady in the shiny dress that was missing its sleeves - but how someone could make a dress and forget to put in the sleeves, I just don't understand. Oh, and the man she kissed too, he was nice. He was Mr West's friend. And then there were the two men all wrapped up in bandages! I don't know why they were in the toy shop - they just suddenly showed up - but one of them was nice to me like everyone else was. The other though… Well, he was Mr Ratch from just down the street, and he yelled at me. But then he always yells at me. And when he was all done yelling at me, he stomped off out of the toy shop and went home to his own place over his shop.

That's when everyone else started to leave as well. But the lady - she told me to call her Miss Bessie - she said that no one else was going to set foot out of the shop until everything was all straightened up again. Oh, they all tried to argue with her - even the governor tried! - but she was very strict, just like my mother, and in the end she got her way.

Mr Gordon, the man she'd kissed, stopped calling her Miss Bessie and called her the General instead. I don't know why.

But finally, after all the stuffed animals and the other toys were put back in their places, and the darts were picked up, and all the marbles we could find were back in the barrel, and all the broken things were cleared away, then Miss Bessie said it was a job well done and everyone could go home. She left on the arm of Mr Gordon so he could see her home safely, though I heard him say very quietly to Mr West that it would be a very foolish robber who would try to take on the General, since she would just screech him into submission. Whatever that means.

Last out the door was Mr West himself. He kissed me good-bye. Oh, he was so nice! Dr Loveless had told me such awful lies about him! Why had I ever believed him?

The last thing Mr West said before he left was a reminder for me to lock up. So I did. Then I went around the shop turning off the lights before heading upstairs.

I didn't want to go into my bedroom though. Somehow, without me knowing about it, Dr Loveless had put a trapdoor in my bedroom floor! What if I forgot and walked over it and the floor dropped out from under me? No, I was too nervous to sleep in there anymore. But I could use my mother's old room. I just needed to get my nightgown, which I did by walking very carefully around the edge of the room, in and then out again.

Tomorrow, I thought as I went down the hall to Mother's room, I would have to go back into my room and gather the rest of my clothes and my dolls and things and take them to Mother's room as well. I was sad to have to abandon my bedroom, but I just didn't feel safe in there.

I stepped into Mother's room, expecting to have to light the lamp, only to find that it was already lit and turned down low. That was funny. I turned it up - and gasped. Someone was sleeping in my Mother's bed!

Then the someone turned over and peered at me. "Priscilla? What's the matter?"

"Miss Antoinette!" Oh yes, that was right. I'd forgotten that Miss Antoinette was using Mother's room. But… "Why are you still here?" I asked.

"Why am I…?" she repeated. Then she sat bolt upright in the bed. "What do you mean, why am I still here? Where is everyone else?"

"I don't know," I answered. "I heard Mr Gordon say the state mil… milish…"

"Militia?"

"Yes, that's the word! That they were looking for Dr Loveless and Voltaire, and then the governor was sure they'd be ap… appre…"

"Apprehended?"

"Yes, that! By morning."

"Oh, great," Antoinette muttered as she threw off the bedsheets. She was fully dressed underneath. "I told Voltaire to let Miguelito know I'd be taking a little nap. I suppose he forgot to relay the message." She gave an annoyed sigh, then said, "And I suppose they also forgot…" And she went to Mother's wardrobe and rummaged in the bottom of it, then pulled out a black satchel and looked inside it. "Yes, it's all still here." She brought out a second satchel and checked it as well. "This one too."

"One, two!" I repeated after her. "That's funny! But what are they?"

She glanced at me and frowned. "Never you mind. I'll just have to take these with me and meet them at the rendezvous point."

"The ron-day-voo point? What's that?"

She snorted. "It's the place we agreed previously to meet at if we were to get separated. They'll be expecting me there. I need to hurry." She grabbed a cloak from the wardrobe and threw it around her shoulders, then added, "I don't suppose you would know how to flag down a hack?"

I didn't know what to say for a moment, but then I remembered. "Oh! We have some flags downstairs in the toy shop. Do you want me to get one for you?"

She gave a very loud sigh. "Never mind! I'll just have to take care of it myself." She went to the window and glanced out. Then she jerked back. "Someone's out there!"

Oh! I could hear it now, the sound of someone knocking loudly on the toy shop door.

"Get rid of him!" Antoinette hissed. "Whoever it is, do whatever you have to do to make him go away."

"But…"

"Do it!" She took my arm and pushed me out of Mother's room and pointed me at the stairs.

I went, but at the top of the stairs I hugged my nightgown in my arms and said, "I don't think I like you anymore," before going down the stairs.

I hurried through the shop to open the door. As I did, my foot kicked something. I heard it go rolling away in the dark, then a click as it hit the wall and rolled some more. What could that be? I wondered. But it was too dark to see it, and whoever was outside was still knocking.

I unlocked the door and opened it. Oh! By the light of the streetlamp outside I could see two men. "Mr West! Mr Gordon!"

"Sh," said Mr West. He and Mr Gordon came inside and closed the door behind them. "Lock it," he told me.

"But what are you doing back here?" I asked as I obeyed.

"Sh!" Mr West said again. The two of them went all around the room looking behind and under everything in the shop, then came back to me. "Is Antoinette here?"

I gasped. "How did you know?"

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs." I pointed. "She was napping in my mother's room."

Mr West started for the stairs. "I'll go get her. You stay down here, Artie, in case she tries to slip past me."

"Right, Jim."

I watched Mr West go upstairs, then turned and asked again. "How did you know?"

"That Antoinette might be here? Well, it seems that by some miracle," Mr Gordon replied as he went around the room lighting the gaslamps, "the militia managed to catch up to the carriage. There was apparently a battle and Loveless and Voltaire escaped again. But Antoinette wasn't with them. And when our men searched the carriage, there was no sign of the stolen money, yet Loveless and Voltaire didn't appear to be carrying anything away when they fled."

"Money?"

"Yes. Loveless took a satchel full of money from Mr Ratch. He took the five million Mr Crain was going to give the governor as well, though I don't know what that was… in… Ah, Priscilla, what's this?" He was pointing at a strange thing that looked rather like an allday lollipop, but made of metal.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

He examined it carefully, then twisted something. Suddenly we heard Mr West's voice, loud and clear as if he were right there next to us. "Antoinette," he was saying, "you might as well give up."

"No, I don't think so!" came her voice as well.

"Where is the sound coming from?" Mr Gordon murmured, still studying that strange thing he'd found.

I was as puzzled as he was - and then I remembered how Mr West and I had been talking in my bedroom when we'd suddenly heard Dr Loveless speaking to us. So I told Mr Gordon about it.

"Your bedroom?" he said. "And was that just before the trapdoor opened under Jim's feet?"

"Oh, yes! How did you know?"

"Jim told me about it." He went searching around again, peering into and under things. "Aha!"

"What's that?"

"A lever." He took hold of it and grinned at me. "Let's see what happens when I pull it," he said as he shoved it down hard.

There was a shriek, and moments later another - the second shriek from me - as a little door I'd never known was there flapped open in the wall. And out through that door slid Miss Antoinette, both satchels and all.

The next thing I knew, Mr West came sliding down the chute as well. He leapt to his feet and caught Miss Antoinette by the arm. "And now, Antoinette, you're under arrest."

She fought him, struggling, trying to pull her arm free, but nothing she did worked. Mr Gordon picked up both the satchels and looked inside them. "Looks like it's all here, Jim," he said.

"Good." And then to me Mr West nodded and said, "Good night, Priscilla," and started to lead Miss Antoinette away.

And that's when I saw it, the thing that had gone rolling across the floor in the dark. It was right there between Mr West and the door. "Oh, Mr West!" I cried. "Look out for the mar…!"

But I was too late. His foot came down on the marble, and then his foot flew up again and all the rest of him as well before he slammed down hard on the floor.

"Jim!" shouted Mr Gordon. He threw aside the satchels as he tried to run to Mr West to break his fall, but he was too late too.

For a second all three of us just stood there, staring down at Mr West. And then Antoinette snatched up the satchel closest to her and ran for the door.

"Hey!" yelled Mr Gordon. "Stop!"

He ran after her, but she didn't listen. She didn't even stop to open the door. Instead she threw her arms up over her head and dove right through the bottom of the door! The bottom panel flapped open for her, just like the wall had! I couldn't believe it! What all had Dr Loveless done to my grandfather's toy shop?

Mr Gordon ran for the door and wrestled with the doorknob. "Who locked this?" he growled in frustration.

"Oh, I did. Remember? Mr West told me to?" I pulled out the key and before I could use it, Mr Gordon snatched it from me with a quick word of thanks, got the door open, and charged out into the night. I heard his voice out there, calling to the policeman walking his beat to come help him find Antoinette.

I guess they didn't see her anymore. I guess she got away.

…

But that's how it happened that, a few minutes later, Mr West woke up and looked all around, then looked at me. "What, again?" he said.

"Again?"

He sighed. "Priscilla, this is the third time tonight that I've awakened in your bedroom."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No. This time it's different."

"Why? Because this time I wasn't blown up first?"

"No, Mr West. Because this time it isn't my bedroom. It's my mother's!"

He gave me a very long look, then his eyes rolled as his head flopped back into the pillows. "Priscilla," he said with another sigh, "that was a very silly thing to say."

"It was?" I gave it some thought, then said, "Oh! Well, at least it wasn't a prissy thing to say."

"What?"

"Oh," I said and started to explain about what my grandfather once called me back when I was a little girl. But right in the middle of me telling him the story, Mr West got up and left!

Men! I just don't think I'll ever understand them!

**FIN**


	7. Wilbur

_Thanks to Cal Gal for betaing._

* * *

"**Wilbur"**

What a night that was! It started with a bang and included a couple more blasts before it was over with. The bang came when the front door of Triton's Locker slammed shut behind a handsome fellow the likes of which rarely darkened our doorway. I tried to warn him, really I did. He was asking questions, nosy questions, and I knew the types who normally infested our barroom weren't going to put up with that sort of thing.

I was right. He'd barely been there five minutes before the men of the North Point dragger fleet began rising from their seats and sauntering into position to jump him. But then he struck first! Chairs and tables flew - bodies too - and then he was up on the stage, knocking out two guys at once with a double-fisted attack before charging through the curtain out of sight, the still-vertical members of the fleet just seconds behind him.

Ten minutes later, the fleet was back. But not the man, not Jim West.

Well, like I said: I did try to warn him.

It was a couple of hours after that when the second fellow showed up, drunk as a skunk and dressed to the nines. He made a lot of noise coming in too, blabbering about his rights and how he owed his taxes. Yeah, we all figured he was mighty tight and likely harmless, if he was so soused he couldn't get his words straight.

Charming drunk he was at first, addressing me as his ol' pal Wilbur, ordering three drinks together to cut down on the time lag between drinks, he said. And by the time I got back to him with them, he'd gone from being a merry drunk to a maudlin one, bewailing the loss of his best buddy, Jim West!

I don't know why I did it, why I stuck my neck out for a couple of joes I didn't even know. Especially when Mr Sloshed turned into Mr Sober in a heartbeat. But yes, I helped him. I told him what had become of his friend, hoping he'd take the hint that, just as his friend had disappeared, so might he.

And then… then he asked me to slug him. He spun a quick tale of him getting fresh with me, of crossing a line. Then he requested it again. "Sock me."

Fine! He wants a punch, he gets a punch. Though I really didn't think I'd hit him hard enough to send him spinning out of his chair like that to flop on the floor!

He bounced right back up, drunker than ever, calling me the Empress Eugenie as he followed me back toward the bar. That put him right by the stage, and I guess that's what he really wanted. He started for the stage itself and someone tried to haul him away, but he just slipped right out of his grasp and headed for the stage again, loudly proclaiming how he was going to sing a little ditty, but he needed to make an entrance for it. Up onto the stage he popped and out through the curtain, making an exit instead.

Once again the fleet followed. Once again they came back, but not the man they'd gone after.

Another hour or so passed, and that's when the strangest thing of all occurred. A noise started out in the bay behind the tavern, soft at first but rapidly building, rumbling, roaring into an explosion and then a second one! The whole building shook. Everyone in the tavern - the regulars, the fleet, even Millie the barkeep - everyone went tearing for the door and out into the street.

I was going out too, but when I saw Millie scamper out ahead of me empty-handed, I ran for the till instead. After all, part of that money was going to be my night's pay, and if someone took advantage of the uproar and made off with the receipts, my own pocket would be the lighter for it.

I was scrambling together the cash when to my complete shock, the stage curtain flew open and there they were again, both men, Jim West and his friend the part-time drunk, and with them a girl all dolled up in wild-eyed make-up and the frilliest dress I'd ever seen. Well, ever seen on a living woman, that is. I'd often seen china dolls done up like that, especially on top of a music box twirling like a dancing girl. Yes, of course, that's what she was dressed as, a ballerina!

"Wilbur!" called out the dapper drunk.

"What are you doing still inside?" Jim West added with a frown.

"Yeah, this whole place might go any second. Come on!" Mr Sloshed, having retrieved the cloak and top hat he'd left behind earlier, grabbed my arm even as I stuffed the last of the money into my pocket. He pulled me out of the barroom right on the heels of Mr West hauling the other girl out.

Outside it looked like a crowd waiting for a parade, all sorts of people milling around out there murmuring at each other, with every face turned toward the bay behind the buildings. I found Millie and handed the money over to her, then asked, "What happened?"

"No one knows," she answered and turned away again to try to see what was going on.

"Well, not exactly no one," said a familiar and quite sober voice by my elbow.

I turned to look up at the dandy. "_You _know?"

He caught my arm again and pulled me across the street to where Mr West and the girl were waiting. "I tell you, Jim," he said, not bothering to answer my question, "it seems to me that elevator shaft should have acted as a flue and drawn the explosion right up into the building. I can't think why it didn't."

"It's good for us it didn't, Artie. Especially with the size of that explosion."

Artie! That was his name. "But what happened?" I asked.

"Oh, it's just that your basement blew up, that's all."

"Basement! Triton's Locker's built on a bunch of brick pylons holding it up over the edge of the bay! It doesn't have a basement."

Artie chuckled. "Well, not anymore, it doesn't." He turned to his friend. "Is there anything more we should do here?"

Jim nodded at the crowd beyond us. "The police just now arrived and they seem to be clearing everyone away."

Artie glanced that way, then added, "Ah, good. So we can go?"

"I suppose." Jim tilted an eyebrow at him. "But why? What's your hurry?"

Artie gave him a cockeyed grin. "No, no hurry. I just thought maybe I'd, ah, go ahead and escort Wilbur home. If I may?" he added, smiling now at me as he swept off his cloak and spread it over my shoulders.

Jim's eyes met mine and lit up with a twinkle. "Good night then, Artie. See you in a bit. Good night… Wilbur?"

"Good night."

Jim took his young lady off in one direction while, with my arm through Artie's, I gave him the directions to my place. Well, it wasn't much of a place, barely big enough to live in, but it was all mine, paid for with my own money.

Artie saw me to the door and waited while I unlocked it. Then he said, "Ah, Wilbur?"

"Yes, Artie?"

He smiled at my use of his name. "I, um… I just wanted to say that you probably ought to start looking for a new job."

I lifted my chin and glared at him. "Why? Something wrong with waitressing? It's a steady job and honorable enough too!"

"Oh, no no no, that's not what I mean. It's just that the explosion out in the harbor was huge, and I'm still thinking of how there was an elevator shaft tying that, uh, 'basement' to the tavern where you work." He shook his head. "I'm afraid the blast might have done something to the building. It might well start falling down around your ears in the next few days."

My glare softened. "Really?"

"Really. I'd hate for you to be out of work, Wilbur, especially after all the help you were to me and Jim tonight."

"Oh." I pressed my hand over my mouth for a moment, then took it away again to say, "I see. I… I should say something to Millie too. That's the owner."

"You do that," he said. I slipped off his cloak and passed it back to him with thanks and smiled when he responded, "It was my pleasure."

And then… well… then he kissed me good night. It was a very nice kiss, one of the nicest I'd ever had. I stood for a long moment on the doorstep watching him saunter off into the night before I went in and locked the door behind me.

…

I tried, I really did, but Millie just wouldn't listen. She wasn't about to abandon the Locker over the say-so of some fellow whose last name I couldn't even tell her. Triton's Locker was hers, and if it went down, she said laughing, why she'd make like a captain and go down with it!

She did, too. It wasn't a week later that the floor began to buckle and sag, and then the walls to bulge and shiver. Millie hollered for everyone to abandon ship while she hurried to secure the till.

They all got out, but she didn't. Just as she was trotting for the door a beam tumbled down and blocked her way. And then before anyone could do a thing to help her, Triton's Locker broke up and crumbled into the bay under the pylons that had supported the place. In moments it was all gone.

At least, that's how I heard it. I was already waitressing at a tavern up the street on the landward side. I felt bad about it ever afterwards, seeing as how I'd tried to warn her. Seeing also how she was doing the same as I had done the night of the explosions, and how it might have been me if I'd stayed.

…

Well, the years went on - mighty good years too. I saved up as best I could until finally I could afford to open a place of my own! I bought the very spot where the Locker had once stood, making sure to have a good sound foundation laid under it this time, and had a new tavern built right there. I painted the sign board myself: a set of three glasses in the middle with the words "WELCOME TO" above them, and below, the single word "WILBUR'S."

And business was good. I kept the bar and greeted each customer who came in with a big smile and "What's your pleasure?" And every night, though I'm sure I didn't show it, I was hoping that maybe one of those customers coming in would be a man in his best evening clothes, a man who would be now drunk, now sober.

And wouldn't you know it, I was so set on that image of him, I nearly missed him!

It was a raw night and the place more empty than usual because of the weather. The door opened to let in a gray-haired old man in shabby clothes, dark glasses on his face, a cane in one hand, and a tin cup in the other. He swept his cane before him, slowing navigating his way to the bar.

"What's your pleasure, old timer?" I asked him once he arrived.

His fingers dipped into the tin cup and pulled out a couple of coins. "What'll this get me?" he asked, his voice as rough as the wind outside.

I looked him over, then pulled out a glass and a bottle. "Put your coins away," I told him as I poured him some whiskey. "Your money's no good here. This one's on the house."

He gaped for a second, then snapped his mouth shut and grinned. "Why, bless you, young lady. Wilbur, is it?"

I admitted to the nickname.

"Well, Wilbur," he added, saluting me with the glass before taking a swig, "maybe you can help me out a mite." His voice dropped into a whisper then, a very familiar whisper as he added, "You remember the man who gave you that name, don't you?" And from behind the dark lenses he winked at me.

I grabbed a cloth and began polishing the bar to give myself an excuse to lean closer. "Artie?"

"The same."

"And not, uh, blind?"

"Disguised. Tell me, Wilbur, have you seen a man with a wooden leg around here named Smith?"

I glanced around the room as he took another swig. "Not that I know of. What's the name of his other leg?" I asked.

He just barely didn't spew the whiskey all over the bar. When he'd recovered from his coughing fit, he shook his head and murmured, "Well, that's my Wilbur, all right! Look, if you should see him - one-legged Mr Smith - can you get word to me? I'll be out there," he nodded toward the street out front, "wandering up and down."

"Night like this, you ought to stay inside."

"I know. I know. But Smith's a dangerous sort, and Jim and I just got a lead that he might be down this way. I, ah, spotted your sign and hoped I might find a friendly face in here." He winked again. "And I did too."

He finished off his whiskey and thanked me profusely with that strange rough voice again, then headed out into the night, singing a sea chantey more off-key than I'd ever heard it sung before - which for a sea chantey is saying something!

He wasn't gone ten minute before I heard the sound of a cane on the tavern floor again and looked up, expecting to see Artie. Nope. The man wielding this cane was a lot younger, a lot tougher - and of course was missing one leg.

I saw to it that the new customer was set up with a drink, then told Hank to man the bar for a bit while I took some air. He scowled at me. "What you want with taking _that _air, huh? It's nasty out!"

"Never you mind! It's a woman thing, all right?"

He had the grace to blush and took my place behind the bar. I grabbed my cloak and headed outside, looking this way and that till I spotted a shambling figure swinging a cane from side to side before him.

I hurried to catch up to him. "Mister?" I said as I dropped a couple of coins into his cup.

He swung to face me, his fingers dipping into the cup to feel what I'd given him. "Thank you, thank you very much!" he said gleefully in that rough voice, then added more softly, "You saw him?"

"Just came into my place, yes."

"Ok, good. Now if you'll just step over to that warehouse down there." He pointed with his head rather than his hand. "There's a man standing there. You see him?"

"Yes. Oh, it's Mr West, isn't it?"

"Good eyes, Wilbur. Yes. You just tell him what you've told me. But don't worry. We'll wait for him to come out and get well away from your place before we tackle him."

"Hmm?"

He shot me a merry look. "Well, you don't want _your _furniture broken up the way Triton's Locker's chairs and tables got smashed up that one time, do you?"

…

He was true to his word. No fighting took place inside my tavern. In fact, Smith left my place soon afterwards, and I neither heard nor heard about any fighting in the street outside my tavern either. It was a few hours later, after all the customers were gone and my workers as well, when there came a knock on the door as I was finishing tidying up.

"We're closed!" I called as I headed toward the door. Sure enough, when I opened it, there he stood.

"Make up your mind," Artie said with a twinkle in his eye. "Are you closed or open?"

"What happened?" I asked as I waved him inside.

"Oh, we caught him," he replied breezily. "Well, we followed him first till he led us to the rest of his cohorts, and then we caught them all. Thanks to _you_, Wilbur ol' pal." He grinned at me. "Buy you a drink?"

"The bar's closed," I reminded him. "But I wouldn't mind if you'd see me home."

"Ah. I could do that." He helped me with my cloak, then waited while I locked up. That done, he offered me his arm and I took it.

I was hoping he'd remember the way, and he did in part. I had to remind him of a couple of the turns. But I was really wanting to see his face when we came around the final corner and my house came into view.

His eyes bulged and he gave a soft whistle. "You've built the place up!"

Indeed I had! With the profits from my tavern, I'd added some rooms to my house. Smiling broadly, I unlocked the door and invited him in for a nightcap.

His hesitation surprised me. "Ah… I'm sorry, but I'll have to pass."

"But you wanted to buy me at drink at the tavern."

"True. But this is different."

Well, yes, it _was _different. That was the point! That was why what I'd declined at the tavern I was offering here at my house! But what was wrong? I needed him to tell me. "Different how?" I asked.

He smiled at me gently, apologetically. "Well, for one thing, Jim's waiting for me come home. And… so is Lily."

I think my heart stopped beating for a second. "Li… Lily?"

"My… well, she was my high school sweetheart, you see. And then we, uh, got hitched a few months back. I waited most of my life for her, and I don't like to keep her waiting for me once a case is closed. But I did want to come back and thank you." He gave me a brief bob of his head and said, "Good night, Wilbur. You were a great help to us. Tonight and that first time as well." He glanced at my house and added, "And you seem to be doing just fine for yourself."

And he left. He left! I stood there in the open doorway watching him go, watching the same as I had the first time he walked out of my life. And this time, I knew this was it. He was never coming back.

I walked in, locked up the door behind me, hung up my cloak, set my purse down on the table. Then slammed my fist down on the table as well. Married! Waited for her most of his life!

"What about how long _I've _waited?" I growled at the empty house, empty save for only me.

And then I sat down at my lonely table and poured myself a drink. Sitting by myself. Drinking by myself. Well, that's how my life had been for years and years, but now it felt intolerable. So many dreams wasted!

If only… I thought as I slugged back some whiskey. If only back when he'd asked me my name for real and I gave him that nickname he'd bestowed on me, telling him I was Wilbur…

Well, would it have maybe made a difference if back then, instead of saying Wilbur, I'd told him my name was really Francine?

**FIN**


	8. Durand

_Thanks to Lucky Ladybug for the plot bunny  
and to she and Cal Gal for betaing!_

* * *

**Durand  
**

I couldn't really say just when Professor Bolt's dream became mine. I was merely a guard at his museum at the first. But by the time the plan to replace the governor with a nearly perfect double was ready to be put into action, I had worked my way up to the chief of the museum guards and was the professor's second lieutenant, so to speak, right behind Miss Piecemeal.

Ah, and what a dream the professor had! To use the treasury of the entire state of California to acquire such a wealth of masterpieces of art as would make the Bolt Museum of Fine Arts the wonder of the entire world! And the greatest coup of all would be when Professor Bolt bought the smiling lady herself, the masterpiece of all masterpieces, the Mona Lisa! She would be the prize of the professor's own private collection, of course, but he promised me personally that, on account of my great loyalty to him, he would permit me a private viewing of that lovely lady once she was his.

It was just natural then, when the Secret Service agents showed up and started poking their noses into museum business, that I would join Miss Piecemeal in her attempts to rid the professor of these threats to his dream, especially after her first plan - sending the ruffians to ambush them in the alleyway - failed miserably. I was glad to man the ballista to fire it at West, certain I could not miss.

I was mistaken. The man had the reflexes of a cat. How displeased, how disappointed, the professor was at our joint failure! I was determined not to disappoint Professor Bolt again.

At length my men and I discovered West in our own museum basement in the very act of rescuing the captive governor. Professor Bolt was delighted when I brought him the news that both birds - West and the governor - were now caged. Miss Piecemeal as well, for her multiple failures, was caged along with West, awaiting their mutual punishment. We needed only to wait for the professor to conclude his negotiations with the representative of the French government who had arrived to discuss the terms of sale for the beautiful Mona Lisa.

Except… he wasn't. He wasn't the representative of the French government at all, but was instead Artemus Gordon, the other Secret Service agent, the man I myself had spoken with at length not a day before! How he had tricked me - not to mention, the professor - with a simple disguise and a fake accent, I'll never know!

He told us to conduct him to where we had caged his partner, and so I led him to the wine press where West and Miss Piecemeal were awaiting execution. And when Mr Gordon leaned over to take a good look at the pair of them down there in the wine press, it was the work of a moment for me to gesture at one of the guards, ordering my man to douse the light. One shove later and Gordon was in the wine press as well. Professor Bolt, I knew, was exceedingly pleased with me. He left me in charge as my men cranked down the heavy ceiling of the wine press to rid us once and for all of two pesky agents and one unreliable Miss Piecemeal.

So how then did the three of them escape? For suddenly here was Mr West up on the platform with us, fighting me and my men, knocking us all down from that height. And Miss Piecemeal, the traitor, was helping them!

Well, _I _never betrayed the professor. With my last strength I rang the alarm bell to warn Professor Bolt. To the end I was loyal. Even now I am his loyal man, here in this prison to which we've been sentenced. What became of Miss Piecemeal I neither know nor care.

I have only one regret and that is that, with the failure of our plan, the professor will never be able to acquire that most cherished of all art works. And so I'll never get to see her, never get to gaze upon the indescribable smile and serene beauty of the incomparable Mona Lisa.

**FIN**


	9. Aaron Buckley

_Thanks to Cal Gal and Lucky Ladybug for betaing._

* * *

**Aaron Buckley**

In a way, I feel like Ishmael in _Moby-Dick_, echoing the words of Job's servants: "And I only am escaped alone to tell thee." I only am left alone of my father's children - or rather, of his sons. But Naomi is merely his ward, adopted, not really family. Not like my brothers.

Most of my brothers.

Four of us, four brothers, all born together. Father followed the simple expedient of naming us alphabetically. I was first, Aaron, then Benjamin, then Caleb. Then… I have always wondered why my father chose that name for the last of his sons. Why Dimas? Why not a fine noble name to match the rest of us: David perhaps, or Daniel? The name Dimas doesn't even appear in Scripture, being merely a name given by tradition to the penitent thief crucified with the Christ. A robber, a "bad guy." Why? Did Father name him so out of spite, for Mother gasped out her last breath as she loosed Dimas into the world. Or, as I look around at all the carnage my youngest brother has brought about, I wonder if Father named him that out of precognition.

At any rate, I often thought that, with a name like Dimas, my brother never even had a chance to turn out well. And I was right. Too right.

Well. Father did try. Oh, he tried so hard for Dimas before he at last surrendered him to the scientific studies of Dr Liebig. He thought he was doing what was best for Dimas. It wasn't, but how was he, how were any of us, to know? How were we to know that Dimas, raised by that expert on apes, raised apart from the rest of us, Dimas the Giant, would become at the last Dimas the Mad, ready to wipe out the rest of us? His brothers one by one, perhaps even Naomi, leaving himself alone as our father's heir, and then no doubt he would kill Father as well.

It was only the fact that Mr West was here, sent by the president to insist on Father's presence in the Senate, that saved us - or what remained of us - in the end. West fought Dimas, acting very much like David fighting Goliath, I believe. And I believe Mr West must have had experience fighting giants, for he never quailed before Dimas. He brought him down, something none of the rest of us were able to do.

I alone am left. Father sits there at the bottom of the stairs with Dimas' great head cradled in his lap. Dimas the Dead, the Broken. Father is broken too, rasping to himself over and over again: "My son. Dimas, my son. What did I do to him? What did I do?"

I want to go to him and shake him, to scream in his face, "What did _you _do? But what did _Dimas _do, Father? He killed Fletcher, then Benjamin, then Caleb! He was ready to kill Naomi and me, and finally you!" But then I think of Joab railing against King David when David was mourning over his son: "O Absalom my son! My son Absalom! Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!" Joab spoke sharply to the king, telling him his loud mourning for his traitorous son who had tried to kill him made the sacrifices of those who had protected the king from Absalom seem like nothing.

And I always thought Joab was being unfair to David; I wished he would have left the king alone in his time of grief. Can I then do any less for my own father now in his? Today, this moment, Father grieves for Dimas. He has already mourned for our foreman Fletcher, and after that for my brother Benjamin, and soon enough Father will mourn as well for my brother Caleb when he too joins the fresh graves in the cemetery. So for now, I will leave Father alone to find his own way through the Hell of our losses.

My three brothers are all dead, and in a way, so is Father. Or at least, _Senator _Buckley is dead. The man Mr West and his partner Mr Gordon came here to escort to Washington - no, he will never return there now. Not to sit in the Senate, not to judge wisely anymore, if indeed he ever did. He is gone. Let him go. Let the dead bury their dead.

What thoughts course through my mind this day! But then, who in all of history has ever suffered such great losses at such great speed? Ah, yes: Job. "I only am escaped alone to tell thee." I was forgetting. In the end, God reversed Job's losses and restored to him all that the Enemy had stolen. But what of Father? His goods were not taken, only his sons. Will he, like Job, have new sons to replace the dead ones? For I cannot imagine my father taking a new bride and having more children in his old age.

No, I suppose that must fall to me. It is my duty to provide my father with grandchildren to cheer the twilight of his years. Another Benjamin, another Caleb, anoth… Oh, no. No, I will not name a son Dimas. David perhaps, or Daniel, but not the name of Dimas, not that cursèd name.

But is it in the name of Dimas that the curse lies? Or is it perhaps instead in the name of Buckley? What if I should have sons and one, or even all of them, should grow up to be like Dimas: hateful, evil, a serpent in my father's bosom, a grandson to bring down my father's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave?

No. I am resolved. If there are to be grandchildren, let them come from Naomi. _Her _blood at least is not tainted, as mine is.

**FIN**


End file.
